by Aliyah Burke
He couldn’t be caught. He didn’t want to die without knowing who had killed her. He had to find a way to survive.
His Calliope.
Her sweet brown face appeared before him—plump lips, a somewhat flat nose and eyes the color of a mug brimming full of rich hot chocolate.
Calliope.
Tears mixed with rain as he ran on. A gun barked seconds before he collapsed as a bullet ripped through the back of his thigh. His fingers dug into the fertile soil as he struggled to regain his footing.
“There is nowhere for you to run, Levi. We will find you.” The deep, drawling voice rose above the storm, carrying through the trees.
Blood loss, combined with pure exhaustion brought on by his days of being held and beaten, overwhelmed him. Levi Jefferson Davis Madison sank ungraciously back to the forest floor, knowing he wouldn’t be able to continue. “I’m so sorry, Calliope. I tried, my love. I tried.” The tortured words were full of sorrow and pain.
Despite the cold his body had experienced for the past week, Levi felt a warmth flow over him like a feather blanket. A heat he hadn’t felt since before the day he’d lost his love.
A whisper came through the dark to reach his ears. Levi, you are a man whose love is pure. In a world divided by color, you never faltered. Despite everything put to you, you stayed true to your heart and never turned your back on your soul mate. For that, I tell you this… Rest now. Fear not, for you shall be returned to the arms of your love. Trust your heart, for it will not lead you astray.
Levi couldn’t explain it, but the words calmed his breaking heart. With a sigh that was more of a gurgle of blood, the man closed his eyes, ready to accept his death. He knew he would one day be reunited with the love who had died in his arms. The ones who had killed her were the same men who chased him.
One day couldn’t come too soon.
Lightning lit the sky as he turned tired eyes up and watched the night shadows become men whose faces were full of hate. Two watched him, one with green and one with blue, as they told him they were the ones who’d killed the love of his life.
The thunder rolled.
* * * *
Ta-Mara LeBreaux sniffled and smiled to herself behind the counter of the used bookstore she worked in, Roberta’s Reads. She closed the book and fondly ran her hand over the front cover.
What better way to pass the stormy afternoon than by reading about real men and real love? This was one of her favorite books. A story of the Old South, where despite the laws, one man had stood up for his beliefs and openly admitted his love for a freed slave. And although they hadn’t been able to get married, he’d claimed he was married in the eyes of God to her.
Levi Jefferson Davis Madison, raised in the Deep South, had fallen in love with a woman known as Calliope Jones.
She sniffed again. How wonderful it would be to have a man like him—tall, handsome, dangerously alpha and yet totally in love with his woman, willing to stand up to the bigots and take whatever crap they dished out.
“The only thing that sucks about this is that I don’t know if he dies or not.”
Age had yellowed the pages and the final bit was missing. The only thing resembling a title was faded script on the front that read Unbreakable Bonds. She had asked her friend, Reginald ‘Reggie’ Carpenter—the store’s owner—about the book and had even gone to the library and checked online to see if she could figure out more about this mysterious story. Nothing came up. And she couldn’t find an author name anywhere on it either.
Reginald had given her the book for helping him out in the store. She carried it with her always and reread it when she had any free time like now, on this dark stormy afternoon in Louisiana. Not many people were out, so after cleaning a bit, she had hunkered down and begun to read.
The book wasn’t very thick, but the words resonated with the passion Levi and Calliope had for one another. “I wish I knew the ending of this.” Her imaginative mind had created lots of different endings for the story. Of course, she substituted herself in place of Calliope, but at least Levi found his love.
A loud rumble of thunder echoed through the small brick building but it wasn’t until the lights flickered that she looked away from the object in her hands. The hum of the lights, which normally filled her with familiarity, seemed odd and unsettling. Almost like they were still trying to catch up from the power surge.
“What I need is to turn on some more music,” she muttered to herself as she placed the book down on the now clean desk. “My imagination is beginning to make me think I’m crazy.”
She headed down the middle of the store, her eyes traveling over the numerous shelves packed with books. This place made her feel at home. Rounding the final shelf, she turned toward the entrance of the back room.
Numerous boxes of books were stored there—extra copies, books for donating to literacy programs and more. Nimbly avoiding them, Ta-Mara finally reached the CD player. She dragged a finger over the stack of CDs before she made her selection and pulled a disc free from its case. “John Legend is always good to listen to.”
Content all was set, she headed out of the stockroom to return to the front of the store. Ta-Mara frowned as the smell of dirt and rain hit her nose. Okay, I get it. No more wild daydreams. She shook her head to rid herself of the crazy trip her mind was taking.
Two steps then she stopped as the entire place went pitch black. Lightning flashed and in its eerie glow, Ta-Mara found herself face-to-face with a man—a man with blood and water streaking his face. A man who lurched toward her and reached out as if to grab her.
An inhuman scream left her before she crumpled to the floor.
* * * *
Ta-Mara stirred. She moaned as she rubbed her head. Damn that hurts. The lights were still out in the store, so she got up slowly.
“Hello?” she asked the dark.
Was someone there? She would swear she had seen a man, but on the off chance he remained, did she really want him to know where in the store she was?
Oh, get a grip, Ta-Mara. You imagined it. That’s all.
There was a soft groan in the darkness. A whimper of fear slipped out as she realized she wasn’t alone in the store.
“Hello? Is someone there?” She reached behind her to the shelf where they kept hardbacks and she grabbed a thick one. Ta-Mara gripped it before her and said with more bravado than she felt, “Answer me. I’m armed and…and I know karate.”
Okay, I thought about taking karate. Now I wish I had.
No answer. Not even another groan.
Gritting her teeth, Ta-Mara positioned her body to head back to the storage area and the fuse box. “I can do this,” she whispered to herself. The situation would have been laughable if not for the pounding of her heart and her sweaty palms.
Normally of solid character, panicking was so unlike her—and she didn’t like it. Moving carefully, Ta-Mara made her way through the blackness to where she knew the box was.
Sliding her feet along the carpet to make sure she didn’t trip, Ta-Mara hesitated as she brought up a mental image of the back room. What, if anything, sat on the floor between her and the wall supporting the fuse box?
Crack! Another lightning flash was followed immediately by more rumbling thunder.
She was ready to jump out of her skin, as tight as her body was wound. Ta-Mara felt the hum of electricity before the lights actually came back on. They flickered a bit but with a final surge, a sigh escaped her as the glow of florescent bulbs flooded the back room.
Closing her eyes in relief, Ta-Mara heard the sexy voice of John Legend fill the air and she turned around to see if anyone was behind her. Her hands remained curled around the heavy book and she was ready, just in case. She put the CD player on batteries so it wouldn’t skip again with the inclement weather.
She checked each aisle and didn’t find a single person. Wearily, she headed back to the spot where she had retrieved her hardback weapon and returned it. There was no one in the store asi
de from herself as she walked to the front desk.
Her book was gone.
Brow furrowed, she mentally retraced her steps. “I’m positive I left it here.” She shook her head. “I’m losing it.”
The clock chimed, telling her it was time to close up. Not like she’d had anyone pop in for a while. She locked the door and counted the money. Once the nightly deposit was prepared, Ta-Mara went to the back, intent on cleaning up and shelving some more books. She wasn’t in any rush to go out in this weather.
The impressive vocals of John Legend stilled her wayward nerves as another rumble of thunder rolled overhead. Humming along, she entered the back room and headed to the far corner to work on some sci-fi books.
A gasp exploded from her throat. A body cloaked in black lay on the floor. Water pooled around him and he wasn’t moving. He remained on his side.
“Oh my God!” Ta-Mara scrambled over before kneeling beside him. She felt for a pulse, disturbing his cloak and revealing tanned skin. It was there. Faint, but there. “Are you okay?” She pulled away from the tingling that moved up her skin at first contact with his body.
She reached for his shoulder, and shook him. Something warm met her skin despite the cold of his clothing. Her eyes narrowed as she drew back her hand and saw the red of his blood on her palm. Her stomach heaved. Blood was never a good thing with her.
Still, Ta-Mara loathed leaving him. There was no phone in the back and her cell was also in the front room. She reached out to touch his dripping wet, black hair—so long it fell past the collar on his coat. Her fingers slid easily into its thickness.
She brushed it away from his face as she took stock of the man lying silently beside her. His face was gaunt, but she would bet it was not a normal look for him. His size alone told her he was a man of immense strength. Not right now, however. Now, he appeared helpless.
His eyes were closed, his long lashes curved against a dirt-smeared cheek. Lips were dry and cracked but his Cupid’s bow was attractive. There was a red line around his throat, as if someone had strangled him—or rather tried to hang him.
Ta-Mara cocked her head. “Hey, I’m going to call for help. Hang in there.” One final stroke along his cheek then she pushed away and dashed up to the front desk. Yanking the receiver up, she swore as she got no dial tone. She dug through her purse until she grabbed her cell and flipped it open. “Damn it!” No service.
She ran back to where her mysterious man lay, her cell phone in hand. He hadn’t moved, so Ta-Mara crouched back down beside him but refrained from touching him. “Hey, can you hear me?” She kept a partial eye on her cell, waiting for the moment it could be used.
“Come on, Tall, Dark and Handsome. Answer me,” Ta-Mara commanded after a while.
Was he dead? He didn’t think you could feel pain in death and he felt pain—burning pain that flowed through his body like nothing he’d felt before. He shifted slightly and clenched his jaw, trapping in the moan to ensure the men following didn’t hear him.
His memory was fuzzy. What just happened? He had been running and fell, the voices had grown louder and he had felt hands on him. Then what?
A rope. They had put a rope around his neck and strung him up in a tree. Fighting for his breath, the rope cutting into his skin… He remembered the sweet, satisfying breaths he’d taken once the branch cracked beneath his weight and dropped him unceremoniously on the muddy ground. The thunder had clapped loudly and shook everything.
That was all he remembered. A gentle touch caressed his cheek.
Am I dead? What he lay on wasn’t soft but it also wasn’t the muddy mess he had been in before. He figured he must be dead—shot twice and hanged, not very good odds of survival.
Footsteps approached and he tensed. Did he have the strength to fight off whoever it was?
A thick, syrupy female voice called out to him, “Hey, can you hear me?”
That voice created a sense of calm in him and he couldn’t explain it, but he knew wherever he was, he was safe. His panic eased and he moved cautiously, opening his eyes.
Slowly his vision came into focus and he swallowed at the view before him. It confused him.
A woman knelt beside him, yet didn’t look at him. Her attention was on a small object in her hand. His eyes traveled over her clothing and he was struck by how odd they appeared.
She wore trousers as he did, but hers were white and hugged her like a second skin. And as she crouched there, he was able to see how nicely they outlined her. Her shirt exposed arms—defined arms, shoulders, and as she turned away from him he could see part of her back. Her skin was the color of roasted pecans with a hint of molasses.
A thick mass of black hair tumbled down the middle of her back. The ringlets called to his fingers to touch, stroke, and indulge in.
His body reacted and despite the pain from earlier, his cock began to swell inside his slacks. When did women begin wearing things like that? And if I’m dead, why am I feeling lust?
He didn’t know anyone who dressed like that—white or black, free or slave.
He nearly shut his eyes as her head swung toward him, feigning death, watching her through slits. When she looked away, he watched her face as she continued to stare at and push things on whatever it was in her hand. The myriad of expressions crossing her face amazed him. He didn’t sense fear from her, despite their color difference. The people who were acquainted with him knew where he stood on slavery, but he didn’t recognize her.
“Come on, Tall, Dark and Handsome, answer me.” Her sultry voice flowed over him.
Peeking at her from under his lashes, he moaned and waited for her reaction. Her head snapped around to his and he saw the first sign of fear before concern masked it. He moaned again.
She stretched for him and his heart increased in speed as she placed a hand upon his forehead. “Can you hear me?” she questioned softly. A brief pause. “Can you understand me?”
He nodded slightly as a sigh of relief escaped from between her full lips. Then he opened his eyes and met her gaze. Big, beautiful, dark brown eyes stared at him. Her face was oval-shaped and her skin as smooth as any he had ever seen.
His body trembled.
“We have to get you out of this wet coat. Can you sit up?” She reached for the shiny object beside her and opened it before snapping it shut with a mild curse.
She cursed? It was adorable—the way it rolled off her lips and her almost sheepish look. But not at all as though she believed herself of a lower status.
“Yes,” he said. He pushed up gingerly and noticed the way she kept staring at him. “Who are you?”
She stood and helped him to do the same, but refused to answer. He allowed her to assist in removing the cloak. A scent he hadn’t smelled before wafted from her body to his nose. It was subtle and feminine. Fresh and arousing. Simple and yet exotic on her.
She must be a free woman. He’d noticed the gold rings on her fingers as she had offered him a hand. Her hands were much softer than he’d expected. But then, nothing about her was anything he would have expected.
“Sit here,” she commanded as she pushed him toward a chair. “I’ll get something to clean up the blood on your head. Sorry… Thanks to this crazy storm I can’t get any cell service to call an ambulance, but I’ll keep trying.” Easy strides took her away from him.
Her attitude reminded him of someone—a woman from his past. This was a bit much for him. All the light in the room came from the ceiling as opposed to a lamp or fire. He got up from the chair and looked at the thin black folder item on the desk. Telegraph keys were on it, but it was unlike any contraption he’d ever seen.
“Hey, don’t drip on the computer.” She spoke from behind him.
He looked at the thing again as he nodded and stepped back. What the hell is a computer? Where am I? None of this is familiar to me, except books.
“Sit,” she ordered, pointing at the chair.
He did and accepted the towel she handed him. It was so soft a
nd smelled like crushed lavender. “Thank you. I think I should leave. I don’t want to get you into trouble.”
She arched an eyebrow. “As long as you aren’t planning on hurting me, I’m sure I’ll be fine. Besides, I want to know how you got in here.”
“Hurt you?”
“Look, man. You’re the one who just showed up here—bleeding, I might add. Are you bleeding anywhere else?” She wiped his head.
“I don’t think so,” he responded. She didn’t look so comfortable wiping his head, almost as if she were going to be sick. Funny how where he had been shot before just ached but he no longer believed he bled. He could move with just a little stiffness, his neck hurt the worst. “Are you sure you won’t get into trouble by being here?”
“I work here. Where were you? By your clothing, I would say some kind of historical reenactment. Civil War perhaps?”
“Reenactment? Of the Civil War?” This woman—although beautiful—was daft. Why would anyone reenact that?
“Perhaps not, sorry. I need to get you to a hospital for a CT.”
A CT? What is a CT? He didn’t understand. “Why would anyone do such a thing?”
“It’s part of history. Don’t need to get all in your role as being a Confederate. I was just asking.” She placed his hand over the cloth on his head. “Hold that there for a minute.”
“My role?” He frowned. “I am a Confederate—” He paused. “But I mean you no harm. If you are running from your owner, I can help.”
A short bark of laughter escaped from her as her eyes grew wide. “Running from my owner? Man, I think you are a little too into your role or else, I seriously need to get you to a hospital. I don’t have an owner—never had, never will.”
“So you are a free woman?”
She stepped farther back from him and opened that shiny thing in her hand again then closed it. Her brow furrowed as she watched him in the light and she chewed on her bottom lip. “Look, you’re really starting to freak me out, so drop the act, okay? Remember, Lincoln freed the slaves, the Civil War ended and the South lost. End of story. Can we drop it, please? Remember, this is the twenty-first century.”
